


The Crane Wives Nanowrimo

by Ke_ai



Category: Original Work, The Crane Wives - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Disaster Lesbians, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Just Angst No Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Other, Pirates, Rusalka (Water Spirit), Slice of Life, Stream of Consciousness, Superpowers, Tags to be added, disaster queers in general, graphic descriptions of violence and major character death warnings mostly apply to chapter 4, loosely inspired by slavic mythology, no beta we die like men, proofreading is for cowards, this is my first time actually publishing anything and i have no idea what i'm doing :), tw: very inaccurately used knitting vocab
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ke_ai/pseuds/Ke_ai
Summary: A collection of short stories based on The Crane Wives' songs. The prompt list can be found on tumblr @see-it-all-so-clear.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Of Everlong/Pretty Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you for reading this, whoever you are. This is my first piece of writing that I'm actually sharing with anyone and while it may not be one of the best, it's the best I could do in a limited amount of time that I had. I will probably expand this story in the future, either in one of the other prompts or as a fully independent work later on.

She didn't notice the bloodstain on her sleeve until after she'd already made it to the port. It almost made her want to cry again, but she knew that she didn't have the time, nor should she draw more attention to herself than a lone woman in the port already did.  
He could wake up anytime, she didn't hit them all that hard, and she had to be gone by then. There was nothing to feel guilty about, she reminded herself, he would bare no worse consequence than some scratches and a nasty headache. 

She did mourn the vase though, it used to be her favourite and her other gifted it to them on their wedding day. Sunflowers upon sunflowers, it was a happy vase; but now it lay shattered on the kitchen floor, in too many pieces to be worth even trying to repair.  
She took a small shard of it with her and she could feel it rattling around her skirt pocket with every quick step she took on the uneven, fish-gut strewn ground of their city's port. She thought of the tiny painted sunflowers and her husband laying on the floor, unmoving, and the shard in her pocket suddenly felt like it was burning her through the skirts. She shook her head, grabbed the handle of her bag a bit tighter and quickened her step. 

There weren't many boats left in the port – most sailed out early in the morning and it was now quite a bit after noon. But right at the end of the fourth dock she passed, there looked to be one that was still getting loaded.  
She would try bargaining the passage, but she knew she needed to save money. And to bargain for a ticket on board, she would have to know where she was going, which she didn't – yet. Wherever the ship was going was fine by her, as long as it wasn't here.  
She hid behind a stack of crates and observed how the sailors carried them onto the ship, one by one. The crates looked big enough and she would probably fit into one, at least until she was on board and too far on the sea that they would consider turning back around to throw her off the ship. Of course, they could still decide to toss her in the middle of the ocean, but she'd think of something by then.Only one way to find out in any case.  
She started checking the crate's covers and finally, after a while, found one that she could pry open with a knife and a bit of cursing. It was half full of what looked like bags of spices, so she felt a bit guilty when she had to toss a few of them into the sea to fit herself and her bag into the box, but she could offer to pay off the damage she caused later.  
She didn't know how much time passed before her crate was finally lifted and carried onto the ship, but she heard the calls of men around her, the creaking of the ship, the scuttling of feet. She couldn't see much after they carried her inside, but she could feel it when the ship started to move away from the port and then into the open sea. The rocking of the waves was calming, and yet she could not calm her racing heart, as she slipped into an uneasy sleep. 

***

Usha woke up with a start. Her neck was cramped and she was cold. She couldn't really move around in the crate, but she wiggled her way towards one of the holes in the wood and looked through it. Only after she was sure there was no one around, she slowly lifted a lid and climbed out. Her knees and back protested the movement, but after a bit of stretching, she felt a bit more like a human. She fished out a piece of bread from her bag and started tearing small bites away from it while she was thinking.  
She wasn't naive enough to think that her presence on the ship would stay entirely unnoticed for the entire duration of the journey, to wherever that was anyway. She just had to figure out what to offer to the crew so that they let her stay. She could help around in the kitchen or do the chores – whatever it was they needed. But before she could think any more, she heard a sound of footsteps coming in her direction. 

She climbed back into her crate as quickly and quietly as she could, closing the lid behind to the best of her abilities, and observed through the crevice. She could see two pairs of legs and hear a quiet but heated conversation, but she couldn't quite make it out. One set of legs started walking in her direction and Usha held her breath. THey stipped at a crate right next to her and she could see the person pull a piece of charcoal from their pocket and draw a mark on the crate. Then they turned to leave.  
Usha breathed out a sigh of relief. And then breathed in a bit of sawdust. And sneezed.  
Both sets of legs froze at the doorway. That much about staying hidden until she had a plan. But then the lid of her crate was lifted and she was staring face to face with a very confused sailor. 

***  
The captain's office was much smaller than Usha expected it to be and just as messy as one would imagine. There were maps and papers that looked like contracts and correspondence strewn wildly all over the table, with broken quills and half-empty bottles of ink thrown in-between. But it was surprisingly light and warm as well, the big windows letting in the salty air and rays of sunshine that completely blinded Usha when she was all but tossed into a chair and told to wait for the captain.  
The said captain seemed to be taking their time, as Usha was starting to get quite bored, bored enough to forget about being scared. Then the door behind her opened and she was reminded.  
The first thing she noticed about the captain was their stormy blue eyes and the second was just how not amused they looked at her presence. She wanted to stand up, but she felt frozen to the spot, as the captain sauntered around the table and sat into the chair opposite to her and stared at her for what felt like an eternity.  
»I have precisely two questions for you,« they finally broke the silence, still pinning Usha down with that unnerving stare.  
»Who are you and what the hell are you doing on my ship?«


	2. Nothing At All/ Allies or Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dreamy, sort of stream of consciousness one-shot that hopefully managed to encompass both of the songs that were today's prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back or just hello and welcome. No lesbian pirates today sadly, just an aro-ace mess and his childhood friend sunbathing on a roof. I did my best to combine both songs, even though I'm not sure to what extent I managed to do it, but feel free to tell me in the comments below! Also the kudos and your kind words feed my starved soul, so thank you all.

»What do you want from life, Ezra?« Astrid asked him one day when they were laying on the roof of her garage. Ezra was staring at the clouds above him and he thought about he could get lost in the big blue width of the sky above him and never be anything ever again. How he would be nothing but one with the endless blue. 

When he didn't answer quickly enough Astrid lightly kicked his shin with her bare foot, so he just shrugged. There was a cloud just above him that looked like a weird mushroom and he had a sudden urge to poke it with his finger. 

“Really? There’s nothing? Man, your life must be so great, wishing for nothing at all” Astrid laughed, stretching her arms on the roof tiles and moved her freckled face more towards the summer sun. 

Ezra sighed and went back to staring at the clouds. He could feel Astrid’s gaze from time to time when she lazily blinked into his direction like a cat that was warming up under the late evening sun. It wasn’t that he didn’t want for anything or that he expected nothing from his life, it was just that he felt like every time he said something out loud he ruined it. Something that is said out loud cannot be undone and Ezra always had trouble with conveying his thoughts as he wanted them to sound. What came out was usually a jumbled mess of all the wrong implications and hidden meanings that could easily destroy everything like a wildfire. 

He wasn’t even sure why Astrid still wanted him around. They knew each other basically since kindergarten and Astrid was always there, like a sun to his moon. When Ezra’s words failed him, she was the one to tell them for him. It was also her who asked Ezra to date. When she kissed him for the first time, hidden behind the graffiti-covered wall that surrounded their high school, he felt… nothing. He felt nothing. 

And he wanted to feel something for Astrid, but no matter how much he tried to love her as she wanted him to love her, he could only love her as his closest friend. Dating her wasn’t much different from being friends anyway. They still hung out in her room after school, Astrid still snuck into Ezra’s house when his father wasn’t around and they still lay on the garage roof, drank the disgusting grape sodas from the convenience store down the street that Astrid's sister loved and cried in each other’s arms when something bad happened.  
It was only when Astrid wanted more and Ezra turned her down that she sighed and said: “You know what. Let’s just be friends again. This is pointless.”  
Ezra just shrugged then too and Astrid only laughed at him then too, even if it sounded a bit sad. He was grateful to her on one hand, but on the other, he had no idea where they stood now. He sometimes felt like Astrid hated him, but at the same time, she just carried on as always after their breakup. The day after it happened she came to pick him up for school just like every other morning and messed up his dark curly hair before they started walking. 

She’s been in other relationships since that and Ezra was pretty sure she was over him, but still, a part of him felt guilty. Perhaps if he’d just said something, he could’ve spared them both the awkwardness. Or perhaps it was just him that still felt awkward about it. 

The sky was getting darker, the hues of reds, oranges and pinks slowly colouring the clouds. A dog was barking down the street somewhere and the sound of a car turning into the neighbour’s driveway shook Ezra away from his thought. 

Astrid was still lying next to him, scrolling on her phone, occasionally humming or snorting at something she read or watched. He shifted closer to her, leaning his head on her shoulder, and she moved to accommodate him so that they could both see the screen of her phone. 

She was watching a video on how to make vegan soufflé pancakes and Ezra wasn’t particularly invested, but he liked being close to Astrid like that and he loved the spark of excitement in her eyes when she found something that became her latest obsession. Last month, it was lichen and Ezra faithfully followed her around as she dragged him to a nearby forest and took a billion pictures of all the different lichen kinds she could find, while excitedly telling him about all the reasons why lichen was so amazing and important and how it was neither algae nor a fungus but a symbiotic combination of both, which objectively speaking made it even cooler. 

Last year it was figure drawing, something that Ezra became rather good at after they signed up to a free class at a local community college together. Astrid huffed at how unfair it was that he was better than her in something that was her interest in the first place and Ezra just quietly laughed at her indignation, his shoulders shaking, and told her that maybe he was just naturally talented, or perhaps she would have to practice a bit more. She chased him around the campus, violently swinging her bag while the onlookers jumped out of their way, laughing or frowning in their direction when they passed them until they both broke into laughter and collapsed into a giggling heap on the grass. A week later, he gifted her a portrait of herself that she still had pinned above the nightstand next to her bed. 

The video was coming to an end. He snuggled closer to Astrid’s shoulder and she smiled and patted his head, before turning back to her phone. Ezra closed his eyes, breathed in Astrid’s warmth and wanted for nothing at all.


	3. I Talk In My Sleep/ Not The Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spectres,nightmares and a mysterious hallway full of doors that won't open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the most fun so far writing this prompt because I always wanted to try something slightly spookier, even though it's very cliche and not really all that scary. But anyway, I hope you enjoy the story and let me know how I did in the comments below!   
> And as always - thank you for reading.

Cailin woke up covered in a cold sweat and with remains of a nightmare still seeping from her mind. She noticed a translucent form of one of the echoes in her apartment moving dangerously close and she grabbed a pinch of ash and salt mix that she kept on her nightstand, quickly throwing it into the echo's direction. She knew that the echoes couldn't technically hurt her, but she didn't feel like dealing with the cold feeling of one of them touching her this early in the morning, especially not today. 

She dreamt of the house again today. Walking through a dimly lit corridor while disembodied voices whispered warnings to turn back and leave this house in her ears. Still, she proceeded, as she always did, with a small lantern, its weak flickering flame barely illuminating enough to see a few steps ahead and nearly nothing else. With years, the wallpaper in the house in her dreams started changing, gradually fading from a once splendidly vivid blue to a dusty, greyish shade, and peeling in some parts. 

She always walked the same path to the library. She had tried changing it a few times when her dreams felt lucid enough, but no matter how much she tried to open up other doors in the hallway or if she tried walking in the opposite direction, away from the library, she always ended up there, right in front of the huge grandfather clock that stood right opposite to the door she always came through. Its wood was dark and polished under the dim light of her lantern, and the silver handles glimmered as new when the light hit them, despite everything else in the house being covered in a thick layer of dust and neglect. 

It was always the face of the clock that caught Cailin's attention though, the fine mother-of-pearl inlay with barely visible words written in it. Every time she tried to read them, she was torn from her dream and woke up drenched in sweat, with at least one echo drifting close to her. 

She didn't remember when she first started seeing them or how she learned that ash mixed with salt kept them at bay. It did make her life in the student dorms slightly awkward though, as her roommates were usually not too understanding of scattered herbs and dust around the apartment.   
Caitlin sighed and checked the digital clock on her left. It was barely past four in the morning, too early to be awake but too late to fall back asleep, as her alarm clock was bound to ring in less than two hours anyway. Tea, she finally decided. Tea was a... decent idea. 

She reached under the bed to find the woollen socks she kicked off the evening before and put them on, then, standing up, grabbed the first thing from the pile of clothes on a chair next to her bed, which turned out to be an old moth-eaten sweater that she only kept around because it was oversized and comfortable, and put it on over her pyjamas.   
The apartment was icy cold and she debated finding a throw blanket to wrap herself in but decided that it would hinder her movement than it would be worth it. There were two more echoes in the kitchen and one of them touched her shoulder before she managed to dodge it or throw the ash salt in its directions. 

Touching an echo was like being stabbed by an icicle. Painful and cold in a way that settled deep into one’s bone marrow. The worst part though was the flashes of feelings or memories that Cailin saw or felt whenever one of the echoes touched her. It wasn’t that those were necessarily negative or violent, but they were so decidedly not hers, that Cailin felt like something reached up deep inside her and slightly rearranged her gut and left those feelings there. Or perhaps like she reached into someone else and pulled a piece of them out into herself. In any case, it was deeply unsettling and always left her feeling slightly violated. But there wasn’t much she could do, aside from the ash salt and leaving the rice in a bowl of water on the window sill for the echoes to feed on. 

Still shivering she filled a teapot with water and patiently waited for it to heat up while rubbing her still slightly numb shoulder. After the water came to the boil she threw in some yarrow and let the steam from the pot into the room. The two echoes flinched back and then flickered out, reappearing outside of the kitchen door.   
She sat at the kitchen table while waiting for the tea to cool down enough to be able to drink it without burning herself. Something was nagging at her in the back of her mind and she could not figure out what it was. The dream was the same as always – the hallway, the lantern, six doors until the library… No, that wasn’t right. The hallway, the lantern and five doors. There were only ever five doors before. 

But that didn’t make any sense – she could never open any of them anyway, and she tried. Why would another door appear if she couldn’t open it anyway?   
She didn’t realise that she was biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Grimacing she took a sip of her now lukewarm tea to rinse the disgusting taste away. Not that yarrow was that much better, but it was warm at least and it certainly made her feel calmer.   
The sixth door was still weighing down on her, however. Perhaps she could try opening it the next time she dreamt. 

***   
The weeks went by and Cailin was growing frustrated. She hasn’t dreamt of the house ever since she woke up from her last nightmare and the number of echoes in her apartment was steadily rising. There was one in her bathroom now and it made showering a terribly unsettling experience when she could see a shadow of an almost-person through her shower curtain. It wasn’t the echoes that haunted her though, it was the fear that she would somehow never dream of the house again, that she would never find out if there really was the sixth door and whether she could open it or not. 

She even went as far as trying to distract herself by drinking, which resulted in an ill-advised and somewhat disappointing one-night stand. It wasn’t that her companion was terrible in bed, but she woke up to her frantically shaking her shoulder and telling her in a small voice that barely concealed her panic, that Cailin was talking in her sleep in a language, unlike anything she'd ever heard before. Kai was kind enough to at least send her the recording before she shakily pulled on the dress and boots from last night and stammered a half-assed apology before quickly leaving the apartment, all but slamming the door behind her. 

It was safe to say that the coffee date they had planned on was out of the question now. 

Cailin tried sending the recording to some of her friends from college that she knew were into linguistics, but their researches yielded nothing but dead ends and disappointment. One of them told her that the language sounded like Occitan mixed with something else, which was definitely interesting, but also extremely unhelpful as Cailin’s knowledge of French started and ended with “bonjour” and “mèrci”, and her knowledge of Occitan was nonexistent. 

It was getting late, and no matter how much Cailin wanted to find an answer, it appeared that there was nothing she could do about it. She made her way into the kitchen with a pouch of ash salt in the pocket of her cardigan, a habit she started after the new echoes started to appear a week ago. Thankfully, they all ket their distance today, when she emptied the bowl of wet rice into a trash bin, before filling it with a fresh portion and setting it on the window sill. She also lit an incense stick before going to her bedroom and collapsing on the bed, still dressed. 

She didn’t realise she’d fallen asleep until she heard the familiar whispers in her ears. For the first time, the dream she found herself in so often didn’t fill her with dread, but with excitement and something close to hope. 

The grey walls seemed to be holding their breath as she walked past the first door and then the second. The flickering of the lantern threw odd shadows and Cailin could swear that she could hear someone else's breathing beside her own when she passed the third and the fourth door. She could already see the polished wood of the grandfather clock in the library at the end of the hall. But there it was. The sixth door. It looked the same as all the other doors she passed and couldn’t open, but Cailin knew this time around, it would be different. 

Lifting the lantern higher, she twisted the doorknob.


	4. Down The River/Keep You Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, the rating has gone up with this chapter and new archive warnings apply. There are graphic mentions of blood, injuries and dying in this chapter, so if you are someone who finds any of that uncomfortable, feel free to skip it. I will hopefully go back to lighter stories in the next few days.

Breathing was getting harder by the minute and Fern's vision was becoming blurry. She could see the bodies of her teammates scattered on the ground around her, some still breathing, some… some not. She coughed weakly and felt a thin trickle of blood roll down her chin. 

She felt, more than saw someone walking towards her and she struggled to focus her vision. He crouched down next to her with a sigh. She couldn't move her head but she looked into his direction as much as she could, into those green eyes she knew as well as her own. 

He lifted a hand towards her face and she flinched slightly, but he just gently wiped away the blood from her lips. 

“You know, I was really hoping that you wouldn't come after all,” he said quietly, holding her angry gaze. 

“We both knew how this was going to end. Honestly, why even try to stop me. It's too late for the city, but still, you just had to come and get yourself killed, didn't you Greenie?” he shook his head condescendingly, with that half-smile that Fern used to love so much when they were kids. 

But they weren't kids anymore, and there was a city burning all around them. She wanted to break his teeth and pummel his face with her fists until it was unrecognisable. But instead, she gathered all the strength she could muster to speak. 

“Maybe I was wishing that you'd prove me wrong, Aiden-“ Another coughing fit interrupted her before she could finish the sentence. But she would not give in until she said her part. 

“That you'd come clean before it was too late and try to fix the damage you've done." 

Restore my faith in you, she wanted to say, but she didn't. She knew he understood it though, by a small line that appeared between his wrinkled eyebrows. 

She remembered Aiden having the same look in his eyes when they were five and she'd just broken her arm. She was climbing to the top of the tree when suddenly, a branch snapped beneath her. Before she realized what was going on, she was falling through the air and then landed on the grass with a sickening crack. 

Aiden was already running towards her, screaming her name. He looked like he was about to cry. Fern would probably also be crying if she weren't still too shaken up from her fall to be able to even think about it. That and – her arm. It was definitely broken, the bone visible through the skin, but something was happening to it. Both she and Aiden watched disbelievingly as the opened tissue slowly started knitting itself back together, the bone slowly and painfully snapping into place and the bruise gradually fading from a freshly blue to a green that looked weeks old. 

“You got your powers,” Aiden breathed and Fern just nodded numbly. It wasn’t unheard of for the powers to manifest at such a young age. It was still rather rare though. Fern slowly lifted herself into a sitting position. Checking her elbows and knees, she found nothing but a few scabs that, just like her previously broken arm, looked almost completely healed. 

“We have to tell your mom,” Aiden said, turning his back to her. Fern could sense the jealousy in his voice and she frowned. It wasn’t her fault that she got the stupid powers and Aiden didn’t. It wasn’t her fault that she fell from the tree and they found out about it alone. Well… Falling off a tree was partially her fault and Aiden told her not to get too high. But that was not the point! And besides – Aiden never even wanted to climb, so what would he know. 

Still, she shook off her anger and pulling the twigs and leaves from her hair, ran down the hill to catch up with his retreating form and bumped his hip with hers, until he gave her a half-smile. 

But it got worse. In the coming years, her healing powers grew. With time, she was able to heal not only herself but other living organisms as well. And in a few cases, she could bring them back. At first, it was just a houseplant here and there, then a mouse that her cat left in front of her door. Then… 

All the while, Aiden still hadn’t gotten a lick of powers, and it was getting late. No matter how much she told him that it wasn’t important, that it didn’t make him any lesser, he wouldn’t listen. 

One day, when they were talking about it in his room, he finally snapped. “That’s so fucking easy for you to say, Fern.” 

She’d never seen him that angry before. 

“You don’t know what it’s like, going out there, every day, knowing that people know that I still haven’t gotten a power. Putting up with their pitying stares. Putting up with YOUR pitying stares -” 

At that, he hit the wall behind him. Except, after he hit it there wasn’t that much wall behind him to speak of, except for a few scattered bricks and smoking insulation material. They both stared disbelievingly at Aiden’s hand until Fern whispered: “Holy shit.” 

That was eighteen years ago. Now Fern looked around the smoking remains of the city they both grew up in, and she couldn’t help but feel like perhaps she’d never known Aiden at all. 

She hated him, she realised. She hated him because she knew – this meant nothing to him. He would just move on to another town, and then to another until he had the world burning at his feet. 

She felt sick to her stomach and it wasn’t just the concussion. She knew that her body was trying a hard as it could to patch itself back together, but there was too much and even her abilities ended somewhere. She threw herself in front of the others just before Aidan’s explosion hit them. And still, she couldn’t protect them all. A tear rolled down her cheek. 

Aiden was still crouching next to her, searching her with a cold stare. 

“I don’t think you’re gonna make it this time around Greenie,” he sucked in a breath. No shit, she thought. 

She had to distract him. There was one last thing she could do before she went, but she needed her arm to heal enough. 

Keep him talking. Just keep him talking. 

“I didn’t think you were such a humongous shithead, yet here we are. Tell me, “ she chuckled, “is it fun ruling a dead kingdom? Look around you. There’s nothing left.”  
His face twisted in anger as he stood up.  
“They were all too weak. No amount of waiting would’ve made us safe, you know that. They were just too cowardly to act before it was too late.” 

He turned to walk away, but Fern called out after him. 

“And what about the rest of us? Fine, you killed the council. You destroyed the city’s defences. The people are not going to blindly follow you now, Aiden. Or have you already decided where to house all of the skeletons?” 

He shook his head, almost ruefully.  
“Oh, Fern,” he said, “it’s just like your father always told us, nothing worth doing comes easy. Do you really think I’m enjoying this?” 

He looked at her as if he genuinely felt wounded by her remarks. Pretentious bastard. She knew he absolutely was enjoying it. 

He took a step back into her direction and Fern froze. The knife that she had been oh so carefully pulling from her sleeve was almost out and she moved her hand to cover it. 

“It would be better if you just rested now, Fern,” Aiden smiled sweetly, before lifting his heavy military boot-clad foot and slowly pressing down on her ribcage. She could feel two of her barely healed ribs break again and puncture her lungs. He kept pressing until there was nothing left to be broken. Fern’s vision was growing spotty as she struggled to catch a breath, but she knew it was futile. 

Aidan had the audacity to look mournful as he kneeled next to her, taking one of her hands in his. 

“I’m sorry, but there was no other way. You know I couldn’t let you live, so don’t hold it against me too much. You’re my oldest friend, Fern. My only friend.” 

He squeezed her fingers a bit as if to comfort her. She opened her mouth to answer him or perhaps spit in his face, but he shushed her. 

“It’s better that way. Just close your eyes. I’ll stay with you until the end,” he whispered comfortingly, rubbing a thumb over her bloody broken knuckles. 

“Just… one last thing," she whispered, barely audible, lifting a bloody hand to cradle Aiden’s face gently. He leaned into her palm and closed his eyes briefly. He did not notice her other hand lifting, a dagger tight in her grip. 

“See you in hell.” 

She stabbed him in the throat with one quick movement. He grabbed at his neck, desperately trying to breathe in, but all his windpipe could do was produce wet, gargling noises. He looked at Fern with such rage and betrayal in his eyes that something inside her broke before he collapsed on top of her and she screamed in pain as his full weight landed on her broken body. 

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get a voice out. Fern was still cradling his face, tears falling from her eyes as she watched the life slowly drain away from it. His body shuddered a few more times before falling completely still 

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you until the end,” she whispered through her tears before the darkness took over.


	5. The Glacier House/Strangler Fig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always; thank you for reading and enjoy!

It was almost time. Jules took one last glance over his cosy apartment, then wrapped a scarf around his neck and tucked it underneath the coat lapels. Not that he'll have any use for it soon, but the autumn wind could be bitingly cold these days. 

The night seemed quiet and full of expectation, as he walked through the dimly-lit streets of the city. He only stopped at the edge of a park close to his apartment, to pet an old stray tabby that he brought food to every day on his way to work. He wondered if there would be anyone else taking care of it now that he was leaving. 

He reached the brink of the city fairly quickly, disregarding a few red traffic signs as there was no one on the streets to tell him off. The crossroads wasn't that much ahead, so he slowed his step to savour what was left of his life. He still had some time before 3 am, so he wasn't in a hurry. Still, his road came to an end sooner than he would've liked. 

He checked the time and frowned. His devil seemed to be late. 

He moved to the edge of the crossroads. Rummaging through the pockets, he managed to find a cigarette case between all the old bills and half-used tissues. He put a cigarette in his mouth and started searching for a lighter. Just as he grabbed it, a shape if a person slowly materialised seemingly out of nowhere. 

His devil smiled at him as he always did when they met – a little too wide to be considered non-threatening, but still kindly if one should choose to interpret it so. And Jules did.  
He lit his cigarette as the devil came closer and then offered him a case. The devil shook his head and instead reached for Jules' already lit cigarette, plucking it from between his fingers and putting it into his mouth. Jules chuckled fondly and lit himself another cigarette. 

They smoked in silence for a bit, then finally, the devil spoke. 

»Have you said your goodbyes?« 

Jules made a noncommittal noise and lit another cigarette. The devil lifted an eyebrow at that but decided not to comment. 

»Not many people that I had to say goodbye to,« Jules elaborated. 

The devil nodded, watching Jules with half-lidded eyes. 

»I gave you everything I could for years,« the devil started, but Jules lifted a hand to stop him. 

»And now you want it back. I know. That was the contract.« 

He took a long inhale, closing his eyes as the cigarette burned to the filter, then dropped it and put it out under his heel. 

»I came, didn't I?« 

The devil nodded begrudgingly to that and turned his back to Jules. He lifted a hand and muttered a few words, too quietly for Jules to be able to make out any of them. A door appeared in the middle of the crossroads and the devil opened it. 

A gust of cold wind blew from the inside, taking Jules a bit by surprise. He always thought that hell was filled with fiery pits full of souls screaming in agony, at least according to what his parents taught him as a child. But it did not appear to be so - hell seemed strangely quiet, serene almost. And cold. Very cold. Perhaps he would need his scarf yet, he mused. 

»Bundle up, darling,« the devil smiled at him. 

»You're on your own now.« 

»You're not coming with me?« 

The devil shook his head. 

»Will I ever see you again?« Jules asked. 

The devil looked up in thought for a few moments, then once more shook his head, but slower this time. 

»Unlikely. I may see you down there, but you won't be able to see anyone.« 

Jules nodded at that. It made sense, in a way, that this was how hell would look for him. 

He took a few steps and stopped right in front of the door. He could see anything beyond the threshold, covered in a thin sheet of ice, but he could feel the cold wind that cut through the layers of his clothing. 

»Actually,« he said, facing the devil. 

»There is one more person I want to say goodbye too.«  
The devil's mouth momentarily twisted into a thin line of annoyance, but then he nodded hesitantly. 

»I suppose it does not matter much if we take a few more moments. Where to then?« 

He offered Jules his hand, but Jules just laughed and shook his head. 

He took a step closer to the devil, who was now frowning in confusion. Then another one, until he was standing right in front of him, close enough to feel the devil's cold breath on his cheeks. The devil seemed to be frozen in place, unmoving, as Jules lifted his hand to cradle his face. 

»Thank you for everything, my dear,« Jules smiled. 

»And goodbye.« He kissed the devil's cheek. 

Then he turned and walked through the door. He did not look back as he heard it close behind him, plunging him into the eternal darkness and cold.


	6. Hard Sell/Take Me To War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster lesbian(s) and some hurt/comfort. Tw for blood, (non-fatal) character injury and badly written dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a day late, but it's not like there are many people waiting for new chapters anyway, and I could not get myself to write at all yesterday. Also, it seems like I really enjoy hurting my characters every chance I get and I am not sure what to do with this information.

Sor was just about to put on some tea when a knock on the door interrupted her. Wiping her hands on the apron and fixing her messy hair, she went and opened it to Nerissa basically falling into her. 

“Issa? What the hell-“ 

“Hello, my dearest. I would love to explain but perhaps we can save that for after I am not bleeding out;” Nerissa flashed her a smile that was just a bit too tight around the edges for Sor to feel relieved by the fact that Nerissa was still capable of talking. 

She more or less dragged Nerissa into the kitchen and all but dropped her on a chair like a sack of potatoes. Nerissa slightly grumbled at that, but Sor paid her no mind as she already started moving around the kitchen, going through the drawers and cupboards to find bandages, a sewing kit and some thread. 

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered, still not looking up from the drawer she was currently rummaging through. 

“Why, that’s very forward of you, darling. If you wanted to see me shirtless you could just-“ 

The furious look Sor sent Nerissa shut her up fairly quickly. Removing her shirt proved to be more difficult than expected, with the bloody fabric sticking to the wound, so Sor just grabbed a pair of scissors she was previously using for cutting the herbs from their pots, and cut the fabric apart. 

The stab wound was already stopping to bleed, but Sor could tell by the amount on the shirt and by how pale Nerissa looked that she would definitely need to stitch it up. However, a few quick presses and pokes to Nerissa’s abdomen at least told her that her internal organs were most probably unharmed. 

She took time to clean the wound and Nerissa blessedly stayed quiet while the pile of bloodied rags on the floor next to Sor grew. She only hissed with pain when the needle first went through her skin and Sor wordlessly handed her the bottle of moonshine she used to disinfect her hands and the needle. Nerissa made a face as she took the first swing, but drunk a bit more anyway, while Sor dressed her wound with a mixture of honey and garlic and put a clean bandage around her torso. 

She then took the bottle from Nerissa’s hands and started cleaning up her bruised knuckles. 

“Are you not going to ask what happened?” Nerissa finally broke the silence. 

“I presumed it was what always it is. Namely, you getting into fights that you know you can’t win and that are not your own because you need to play a hero, and then limping to my doorstep for me to fix your broken body,” Sor said, not looking up from her work. 

She did not expect Issa to pull her hands away and stand up to leave. Well, attempt to leave, as she had to catch herself on the edge of the table, as soon as she tried to take the first step. Sor looked up to her then and saw the indignation in Nerissa’s eyes. It almost made her feel guilty, but she knew it had to be said. It was true, after all, and she had to draw the line of coddling Nerissa’s feelings somewhere. 

“Sit down.” 

Nerissa did, though she still looked angry. 

“So, what was it this time?” 

“A group of scumbags was trying to beat up Jordan on the corner behind the store,” Nerissa muttered. “I bought him enough time to run. Didn’t see that one of them had a knife before it was too late though.” 

Sor hummed at that, taking a swing of the moonshine before closing it and putting it back into a cupboard underneath the sink. 

“Someone must’ve told the coppers because they came pretty soon after. I managed to slip away before they could question me though,” Nerissa continued as Sor sat opposite to her behind the kitchen table. 

“I suppose that’s a good thing, otherwise you’d probably be bleeding out on the cell floor somewhere,” Sor sighed, but that just seemed to make Nerissa angrier. 

“Oh, save it. Look, I know, okay? I know that I’m not gonna win the fights and I know that it’s foolish of me to even try, but what else am I supposed to do, Sor? Just stand there and do NOTHING?” 

“I didn’t say that, Issa. I’m just saying that someday it will not be you limping into my kitchen for me to fix you up, but your cold corpse that I will be peeling from the front of my door, or even better, fishing out from a ditch somewhere,” Sor countered, letting some of her anger seep into her otherwise calmer voice. 

“Fine. Then I’ll stop coming. Thank you for not letting me bleed out, I’ll manage from here,” Nerissa snarled, getting up from her seat again, but Sor just pushed her back down. 

“Stay. Put. I do not want to have to sew your wound together again just because you decided to be a moron.” Sor sighed. 

“Look, Issa. I am happy to help you whenever you need it. I meant it when I offered and I still do. But it is getting exhausting, watching you dragging yourself to me, beaten and bloodied every week. So please, if not for your own sake, then at least for mine – take better care of yourself. I hate watching you getting hut over and over again just so you can satisfy your need to be absolved of the guilt over something that is not your fault, to begin with. I know this world is a shitty place and I know that you want to make it better, but you cannot do it all on your own and there has to be a better way than getting yourself killed.” 

When she looked up to Nerissa this time, she found her crying. 

“I know, okay?” Issa sniffled, wiping her eyes angrily. 

“I don’t need you to tell me all that. I know what I’m doing is reckless and I know that it hurts you.” 

Sor’s face softened at Nerissa’s words and she reached across the table to hold Issa’s hand, but Nerissa pulled away from her reach before continuing. 

“But I’m hoping that I can do better, help at least a little. Because I know that at the end of the day, I at least have someone to crawl back to, while others don’t. And I know it’s selfish, but I just want you to be there so I can hold on to you when I am licking my wounds, even if I know it’s my own damned fault that I got them in the first place, okay?” 

Nerissa was still crying when Sor stood up and carefully hugged her around the shoulders and rested her forehead on Issa’s hair. Issa hesitantly lifted her hands to hug Sor back, squeezing her tighter. 

“I’m not angry, Issa,” Sor whispered into her hair. “I’m just scared.”  
“Will you stop me, though?” Nerissa asked, looking up to Sor’s face. 

Sor kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, her cheeks and finally the corner of her mouth. 

“Never, darling. Now let’s get you to bed.”


	7. Know How/Sleeping Giants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of a lighthouse keeper and zir passion for knitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And three days behind on the prompts! Aaaaaa! I'm still hoping I'll manage to catch up somehow, but I also have my doubts. I am sorry to the two people reading this for the wait, I was not really in the state to write in the past few days. But I'm better now I think!  
> Anyway, I am sure it will be quite obvious from the story, but I want to make it clear that I know barely anything about knitting and the vocabulary that comes with it, so if I got anything horribly wrong, please let me know. This was also my first time writing with neo pronouns, and while I was pretty sure that I understood how they worked, there's still a chance I messed them up a bit, so I apologize in advance, and will try to do better before attempting to use them the next time.   
> This is getting quite long, so I'll stop here; as always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the story!

Lir was often told that ze was brave by the townsfolk when ze came down to the village for supplies. Which wasn't all that often though, as the lighthouse was almost three hours away from the nearest settlement, and ze kept the chickens and a small garden next to it on top of the cliff. 

“It must be so hard, living there all alone, with no one to talk to. And keeping that huge light burning… You're so brave, dear boy,” the herb seller would say every time ze came to her shop, patting zir cheek in a motherly way while she packed his purchase into zir shoulder bag. Ze just smiled awkwardly at that, not replying and lifting his hand in goodbye as he left the shop. 

Truth be told, people scared ze a bit. Even before Lir's grandfather passed away and left zir alone to keep the light on top of the lighthouse burning, they only came down to the village every now and then, for the oil, spices and to sell the thick woollen sweaters that Lir’s grandfather used to make. Speaking of which, ze was almost out of yarn, so it would be wise to purchase some while ze was here – who knows when the next storm would hit and cut the small peninsula on which the lighthouse stood away from the land again. And ze needed thicker socks for the winter anyway. 

No, ze was not brave, Lir decided as ze stopped by the stand selling yarn, thread and a few other wares. Ze was so engrossed in choosing between a skein of moss green yarn and one on which the colours seemed to alternate between varying shades of purple and blue, that ze almost did not notice a presence behind zir until the person spoke.   
“I would personally recommend the green one, as it matches your eyes better, but I have to admit that the variegated one is something special as well and would look great on a sweater.” 

Lir turned around to face a smiling stranger who grinned amicably at zir. 

“I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to town?” the man asked, still smiling. 

“No. I just don’t come down from the lighthouse all that often,” Lir replied. Ze noticed ze was still holding both skeins in his hands, so ze lifted them slightly, hoping the man would understand that ze was about to pay and leave. That did not seem to stop the seller from talking Lir’s ear off, however, as he kept going on about the various skeins and asking if Lir had any project in mind for the two ze purchased, while he stored Lir’s coins in a box beneath the table and wrapped zirs skeins in brown paper. He did not seem to mind Lir’s lack of replies, and Lir was quietly grateful for that. 

Ze was already turning to leave when the yarn seller caught ze by zir sleeve. 

“What’s your name, by the way? You never said.” 

“Lir.” 

“That’s a nice name, Lir,” the yarn seller said, almost as if testing how Lir’s name sounded on his tongue. “I’m Ainsley” 

Lir just nodded his head and walked off. 

“I come here every third Friday,” Ainsley all but shouted behind him. Lir ignored him and walked on. 

*** 

The walk to the lighthouse took zir longer with a shoulder bag full of the things ze bought, but Lir managed to make it back before noon. Ze put down the bag in the kitchen, before going to the garden to pick up a few tomatoes and throw a few handfuls of feed to the chickens. 

It wasn’t until after the lunch, that ze finally unpacked the bag. Pulling out the packet with yarn, ze unwrapped it carefully, not to tear the paper that could be reused later. To zir surprise, there was another skein of dark but still vibrant red next to the two skeins he purchased. Ainsley must’ve slipped it in while ze was busy ignoring his chatter. Or perhaps it was an accident. Either way, Lir felt guilty keeping something that ze did not pay for. It seemed like ze would have to go back to the village in three weeks’ time after all. 

*** 

Time went by quickly. Lir woke up every day, fed the chickens, cooked a meal or two, read books and started working on his socks. Ze was almost done with the first one, but it seemed like ze miscalculated how much yarn ze’d need to make a pair. 

The skein of dark red yarn that Ainsley gave zir was still waiting untouched on top of the dresser opposite to zir bed. It was a nice colour, Lir thought when ze noticed the skein every now and then when ze was getting ready for bed. But he didn’t really know what to do with it. 

The third Friday in the month finally came and Lir took zir shoulder bag from the hook by the door, putting it on zir shoulder. Ze savoured the sunlight on zir skin when ze walked down to the village. The days were getting increasingly colder and the rainy season would probably start in a few weeks if Lir was guessing correctly. 

Ze stopped by the spices store again, and the shop keeper seemed surprised to see zir. 

“Back so soon? Have you finally decided to visit us more often?” she asked, patting zir cheek as always. Lir shook zir head and smiled at her before leaving. 

Ainsley’s stand was set on the same corner of the market place as the last time and Lir took the time to observe Ainsley from afar for a bit, how he patiently listened to an elderly woman and answered her questions about the dyeing process, how he bantered with the boy from the stand next to his, selling herbs and honey, how he flirted with the ladies who seemed to be more interested in Ainsley himself than the threads for embroidery that they allegedly came to buy. Lir slipped closer to the stand while Ainsley seemed busy chatting with a pair of them, searching for the same moss green that ze purchased the last time. But Ainsley seemed to notice zir nonetheless, and immediately turned to zir, ignoring the disappointed stares of the two girls who he was talking to before. 

“You came back!” he said, as if it weren’t obvious, the same amicable smile wide on his face.   
Lir just shrugged and handed him the two skeins of yarn and the coins to pay for the two of them and the dark red one that Ainsley gave zir the last time. 

Ainsley wrapped the skeins up again and then counted the money. He took two of the silvers and slid the third one back across the table towards Lir. 

“It’s for the red skein,” Lir explained, pushing the coin back across the table. Ainsley shook his head and frowned a bit, pushing it back towards Lir. 

“The red one was a gift.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“In that case… thank you. But please, take the money anyway,” Lir tied to persuade him, but Ainsley just shook his head again and repeated, “It was a gift.” 

One of the two girls that Ainsley was talking to before Lir came, and who still stood next to the stall, giggled into her hand, while the other elbowed her in the ribs trying shush her unnoticeably and failing miserably. Ainsley seemed like he also wanted to laugh as well, and Lir was not exactly sure why, so ze just nodded and put the coin back into the coat pocket. 

“See you next month?” Ainsley asked after zir when Lir started to walk off. 

Lir turned back just enough to nod once and then lifted his hand in goodbye while walking away. Perhaps it was just zir imagination, but Ainsley’s cheeks seemed to be a bit red at that, and the girls now both seemed to be holding back the laughter. It must’ve been the cold autumn air, Lir decided, putting the shoulder bag back on zir shoulder and starting zir way away from the village. 

*** 

Lir found zirself noticing the dark red skein more often now. It was still sitting on the dresser, unused, and ze still didn’t have any ideas on what to do with it. Ze finished the second green sock and when ze tried them both on, the yarn felt warm and soft on ze feet. Ze still fed the chickens as always and picked the last of the vegetables and herbs from the garden, savouring the tomatoes and drying the teas for the winter that was just around the corner now. 

*** 

It was Friday again, and Lir was headed to the village to buy the oil, flour and salt before the winter fully hit. It has been raining more or less for the entirety of the past two weeks, however, the sky seemed content remaining only stone grey without actually raining down on ze, as ze walked down the narrow path from the cliff. The wind was bitingly cold though, and Lir wrapped zirself tighter into zir coat and pulled the hat lower over zir ears, as ze continued towards the village. 

Purchasing the goods ze came for didn’t take much time, so Lir decided to stop by the market on the square before ze headed back to the lighthouse, even though ze didn’t technically need anything. Ze strolled between the stalls, listening to the vendor’s calls and pieces of conversations between the people ze passed. 

Somehow, ze ended on the part of the square when Ainsley’s stand was, and ze hesitantly drew closer to it. There seemed to be fewer people around that day, and Ainsley was wrapped tightly in his coat, rubbing his bare hands together to keep them warmth, while he waited for the potential customers. His face lit up when Lir came to the stand and Lir suddenly felt a bit warm, despite the cold wind. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure today?” Ainsley asked, smiling as always. 

“I came to buy… this,” Lir picked up a skein of yarn at random, not even checking which one ze grabbed. 

Ainsley’s eyebrows rose. 

“Didn’t take you for a yellow sort of person, but who am I to judge,” he laughed, as he wrapped the skein up, and Lir could feel the tips of zir ears burning. 

“Until next time?” Ainsley asked, lifting his hands closer to his mouth and blowing hot air onto them. 

Lir nodded and left. But the image of Ainsley’s bare hands kept playing in zir head that night when he set the yellow skein on the dresser next to the dark red one. 

***   
Lir had never tried to make gloves before in zir life, and ze was already cursing the stupid decision to make a pair. The diagrams in one of zir grandfather’s old books seemed easy enough, but ze almost started crying when ze took a look at the final product. The knitting was uneven and some of the fingers seemed a bit too long, while others would probably end up being quite a bit too short for anyone to wear the gloves comfortably. The glove was as soft and warm as the green socks ze had made when Lir put it on though, and ze decided it would have to do. 

The dark red skein was almost finished, so ze would have to continue with the yellow one ze purchased a few weeks before, but at least ze had time to finish the second glove before the third Friday of the month would roll around. 

Hopefully, the second one would be a bit better. 

*** 

A pair of mismatched gloves was waiting on the corner of a table while Lir put on zir shoes, coat and wrapped a scarf around zir neck and ears. Ze hesitated a bit before picking them up and stuffing them in zir pocket. There was technically nothing that ze needed to pick up from the village, but the thought of Ainsley’s cold hands bothered zir so much, that ze decided to make the walk despite that. 

It was snowing when ze stepped outside, and ze was already cursing zir stupid decision to leave the warmth of zir home, even before ze started walking down the path off the cliff. 

All because of a stupid pair of gloves and a boy who would not seem to leave Lir’s thoughts alone. 

By the time Lir made it to the market, zir scarf was soaked through and zir breath was fogging up the air in front of zir face with each exhalation. Ze could hear the sound of the blood rushing through zir ears as ze walked towards Ainsley’s stall, and ze desperately wanted to turn back and forget zir dumb idea and Ainsley’s dumb cold hands, but the man in question had already spotted zir and waved in zir direction. 

“The townsfolk said you wouldn’t be back until spring,” Ainsley said instead of his usual greetings. 

Lir grunted at that and shrunk into zir scarf slightly. 

“I’m usually not,” ze replied, avoiding Ainsley’s questioning stare. 

“I came to give you these,” ze then said, pulling the gloves from zir pocket and handed them to Ainsley. 

Ainsley seemed surprised, but only for a moment. He pulled the gloves onto his hands and Lir frowned slightly as he seemed to struggle a bit with the left one’s thumb, before he could get his finger into the correct finger hole. 

“I know they are not much to look at, but at least they are warm,” Lir felt obligated to say at that, still looking down. “Your hands looked cold the last time.” 

“They’re perfect,” Ainsley smiled at zir and wiggled his gloved fingers as if to prove a point. “Thank you, Lir,” he said so earnestly, that something in Lir’s chest felt a bit tight. 

“Anyway,” Lir coughed out, “I should probably leave now. Long way back and all that…” his voice gradually grew quieter, until he was mostly muttering to zirself. 

Ainsley seemed disappointed at that somehow, but he only nodded and waved his hand at Lir, as ze turned to leave. 

“Lir,” he called behind him a moment later and came around the stall, running a few steps to catch up with Lir. 

“Say, your lighthouse’s the one on the cliff, right?” 

Lir nodded in confirmation. “It’s the only one around, can’t really miss it.” 

“Right, er… would it be okay if I came by in spring?” Ainsley asked. Lir felt like all air was punched out of zir. 

“…Or not…” Ainsley trailed off when Lir didn’t reply for a few moments. His shoulders sagged and Lir somehow felt as if ze’d just kicked a puppy. 

“NO. No, I mean… yes. Please come by in spring,” Lir spluttered out and Ainsley’s immediately perked up at that. “I’d like it if you visited,” ze added quieter, but Ainsley seemed to have heard it nonetheless, as he smiled so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkled with it. 

“See you in spring then?” he asked and Lir nodded. The snow fell slowly around them, but Lir had never felt warmer in zir life. 

“See you in spring.”


	8. Back to the Ground/Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drowning, character death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is loosely inspired by the Rusalka lore from Slavic mythology (and by loosely I mean that I did zero research whatsoever before writing this and just based it off of whatever I remembered from my mythology obsession phase).  
> I am also slowly coming to terms with the fact that I will probably not manage to catch up with the prompts, but I am sorry anyway if there's anyone out there who is actually waiting for the updates.   
> That being said - thank you for reading and enjoy!

Irina was hiding in the roots of the giant birch tree that grew by the lake, listening as the sounds of other children grew more and more distant. She knew Klavdia was too distracted with the boys and with making sure that the one she wanted to catch wreath really caught it when she will let it float down the river with hundreds of others, to worry about Irina’s absence anytime soon. 

Irina curled up in a small ball and closed her eyes. Here in the embrace of the roots, breathing into the small space between her knees and her chest, she could pretend that she was a part of the birch forest around her. 

A sudden splashing sound made her look up from the intertwinement of her limbs in caution, but all she could see was the small ripples on the lake and the way moonlight reflected off its surface. But something wasn’t right, there was someone there, watching her, Irina was sure of it. She held her breath and listened. 

A splash again, this time closer to her – Irina coiled tighter and made sure that her feet were not peeking over the edge of the roots above the water. There was something underwater and whatever it was, it was coming closer. And then the rippling stopped, as quickly as if it were never there. But Irina knew she did not imagine it, and she did not move, at least not for a few minutes. Then her curiosity got the better of her – it would be just a peek, just a quick glance at the water below. 

She shifted to the edge of the roots and looked into the water. There was nothing that she could see in the dark, except for her reflection, which moved with the small waves of the lake. Irina stared at the water for a bit longer, just to make sure there was really nothing down there, and she almost relaxed, but then… there was something off with her reflection. It did not look mirrored as it should, Irina noticed. It looked as if she herself were underwater. Irina raised a hand to her face and the face in the water did the same. And then it blinked. 

***   
Irina hated getting ready for the Kupala night each year. Klavdia, although married for almost for years now, still insisted on coming over to their parents’ home, to help Irina make the wreath, to braid her hair and to dress her up in the nicest of her old dresses, that Irina hasn’t quite yet grown into, but Klavdia didn’t fit in anymore. 

“You never know, this year you might meet someone,” Klavdia winked at her across the table and Irina only scowled in return. She had better things to do than worry about stupid boys and which one of them will catch her wreath and attempt to convince her they were meant to be. 

She was almost done mending the tear in the embroidered edges of the skirt she was supposed to wear tonight, and if she finished soon enough, she could perhaps slip into the forest behind the house before anyone noticed and skipped the celebration altogether. She longingly looked through the kitchen window. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Klavdia tutted at her, wrapping the flowers’ stems around each other, knotting them together. “You are going this year, whether you like it or not.” Irina’s expression turned sour like milk left in the sun for too long, and she stuck her tongue out at Klavdia, who only laughed at her again and flicked a flower stem at her head. 

Hours later, she was dressed and her hair was up, with flowers that remained from the wreath braided in by Klavdia’s nimble fingers. “You look so pretty,” Klavdia told her, her chin digging in Irina’s collarbone, as she hugged her from behind, careful not to ruin her complicated creation on Irina’s head. 

Irina looked at them both in the mirror. Two pairs of almost identical brown eyes stared at her, though hers seemed half-hidden under her furrowed eyebrows. 

“Don’t frown so much, you’ll get wrinkles,” Klavdia said, flicking the tip of her nose, which made Irina swat at her hands like an angry kitten while Klavdia laughed. 

“Just try and have fun tonight, can you promise me that?” Klavdia sighed and Irina, not wanting to see the disappointed look that her sister so often shot in her direction when she thought Irina wasn’t looking, just nodded reluctantly. 

Klavdia pushed the wreath she made for her into her arms before she left and kissed her on the forehead, then pushed her through the door. She could still not go, Irina thought to herself, as she started walking down the same path she took every summer. She could walk off into the forest and no one would know. But she still saw Klavdia’s pleading eyes and her earnest request that she try and have fun. 

Just this once. Just this once she would go, and never again. 

The fires were already lit in the clearing by the time she arrived, and people were gathering around them in smaller groups. Irina walked up to one of them and started chatting with the girls she knew her entire life, confirming the wellbeing of their closer and extended family members, smiling as they bickered at who was going to catch their wreaths and deflecting with a smile every once and then when one of them would ask her about her wishes. She let them drag her into a dancing circle, their wreaths on their heads, as they spun around and laughed, the singing, cheers and whistles following them as they jumped around the fires. 

She excused herself when her legs started hurting and her lungs started feeling like they would burst if she didn’t slow down for a bit soon, and she had to tear herself from the intertwined arms, unwrapping the fingers that tried to pull her back in from her wrists. No-one stopped her as she made her way further from the fires, towards the lake.   
The birch forest around her whispered in the light wind, and she could hear the calls of the night birds and other animal life all around her, as she lumbered on the forest ground like a giant beast, smashing ferns and grass and leaves beneath her feet. 

She hasn’t been to the lake during Kupala night in years. She only dared to return to it in sunlight, and even then she stayed vigilant to any strange movements below the surface.   
The birch trees still dipping their braided roots into the water, and Irina sat into their embrace, leaning onto the bark behind her. Her wreath was growing heavy on her head, so she untangled it from her now mussed hair carefully, setting it down a bit away from her. 

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly for what felt only like a minute, but then she heard the splashing noise, just like the last time. She was awake in seconds, all of her attention focused on the water surface that glittered and glimmered under the moon. Something was moving closer to her again, but Irina wasn’t afraid this time. She was not a child anymore, and whatever it was, surely she was strong enough to fight it if- 

A hand stretched out of the water and reached for the wreath. Irina only just managed to catch it by the wrist as it started to drag the wreath towards the water. She pulled at it, willing whatever it was that was in there to emerge, but she wasn’t expecting it to pull right back and before she knew it she was in the water, kicking wildly to keep her head above the surface, as her feet skimmed the mull and roots at the bottom, her hand still around the thief’s wrist. Finally, she managed to find a stone on which she could stand and keep her head above the water, and then she pulled, with all her might, yanking whoever was in the water with her closer. 

She came face to face with a replica of herself. Well almost a replica of herself. Whatever was staring back at her had her brown eyes, her dark hair and her mother’s aquiline nose, but it was missing the small details – the small scar under Irina’s left eye where she hit herself at the edge of the table when she was six. A smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that came with days of working in the summer sun. Any blemish at all that would make it look less perfect, more… human. 

“Stop that,” Irina hissed, shaking the thing by the wrist. “Stop pretending to be me, you are not me and you never were.” Not-Irina only blinked at that, saying nothing. 

“I mean it, change into something else, or else-“ 

Not-Irina still did not react in any way and Irina sighed. Or else what, she thought to herself. She was barely catching balance on the stone she was standing on and she was already shivering in the cold lake water. She was in no position to make any threats, and she knew it. She wondered if the creature staring back at her knew it too. She decided to change her approach. 

“Why were you trying to take my wreath?” she asked, lifting it out of the water, where it was swimming on the surface close to them. 

Not-Irina immediately tried to grab it, but Irina lifted it above her head, using the height advantage the stone gave her. Not-Irina made a decidedly displeased noise at that, which sounded a little like two river stones hitting one another, and tried to reach Irina’s hand, but Irina only stretched further away. 

“The wreath,” Irina said once again, slowly. The creature grumbled again and looked at Irina and then at the wreathe, then back to Irina again. Then it started growing, it’s spine cracking slightly as it grew taller, it’s hair changing to a darker colour and shape resembling the seaweed, and its fingers growing longer and more inhuman, with what looked to be a thin membrane between them until they finally reached Irina’s hand and pulled it down from above her head. 

Irina was frozen, still clutching the wreath in between her and the creature, that tipped its head to the side, a movement that seemed oddly like that of a bird, and gargled something out in what Irina assumed was its way of speaking. She was too scared to even breathe, her limbs now shaking not only from the cold but also from fear. She slowly extended the wreath in her hand towards the creature that was still staring at her, unblinkingly for once. Then it slowly took the wreath from Irina’s grip, holding it in front of its body as if it were confused as to what to do with it now. 

Irina slowly motioned to the wreath and then to the being’s head, hoping to make the creature understand what it was supposed to do. But it only stood still, looking as confused as before, until Irina reached toward their hands. It flinched when Irina touched its wrist, almost pulling away at first, but when it became clear that Irina wasn’t going to try to take the wreath back, it let her guide its hands to its head, fixing the wreath on top of its lake weed locks. 

“Pretty,” Irina smiled shakily as the being blinked at her, emotionless. Then so quickly that she would miss it if she weren’t looking, it sank underwater, taking the wreath with it, and left Irina alone and shaking in the water, as the birch trees rustled above her. 

***   
Irina started bringing her wreaths to the lake every Kupala. Each year, her parents grew more worried that she hadn't found anyone, and each year Klavdia’s disappointed stares, which started to slowly turn into pity, became harder to hide, and each year, Irina danced with the girls and then slipped away from the warm circle of the fires, into the forest and to the lake, where the lake creature awaited her. 

Irina started calling her Zhenya when she talked to her and told her about her life, her parents and her sister, sitting amidst the roots, and Zhenya in the water below, Irina’s wreath on her head each year. She would untangle the flowers from her hair and carefully put them in the water so that they would float to Zhenya, who poked at them curiously with her long fingers. 

This year, Zhenya drew closer than usual, and when Irina leaned over the side to fix the wreath on Zhenya’s head, she found herself being dragged into the water. Before she knew it, the lake water was all around her, as she kicked and flailed to get back to the surface. 

“Why did you do that!” she shouted angrily, splashing water at Zhenya as she struggled to find a footing amidst the roots. But Zhenya only seemed to swim closer and soon Irina found herself crowded against the wet roots behind her and Zhenya’s body. 

Zhenya lifted her hands to Irina’s face and slowly, carefully tipped it up to hers. The time seemed to stop when she kissed Irina’s lips. The kiss was cold and wet, cold like the lake water around them. Irina has kissed people before in her life, but nothing ever came close to this. She leaned into the kiss and wrapped her hands around Zhenya, kissing her back with all she had. 

***   
The years passed and Irina met with her lover every Kupala, letting herself be dragged into the water, fixing the wreath onto Zhenya’s head and kissing her until her lips turned blue from the cold. But this year was different than the others, Irina knew. This was the last Kupala that she could come to the lake. 

She was twenty-five and her parents have decided to make a match, since she couldn’t seem to find anyone on her own, and they deemed it necessary to take matters into their own hands. The man they chose for her was kind, and he made Irina laugh on the few occasions they spoke, but she knew she didn’t love him and her probably never could.   
She told Zhenya about it when she came to the lake, letting her lover pull her into the lake and kiss her for the last time. 

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered into Zhenya’s shoulder as she held her close, Zhenya’s hands wrapped around her back, holding her above the surface. But this made Zhenya break their embrace and look at Irina with a stillness in her eyes like Irina has never seen before. 

“I love you,” Irina whispered, her hands moving to Zhenya’s cheeks and drawing her closer, into a kiss. She was still kissing her, when Zhenya started moving them both deeper into the water, still kissing her when Zhenya pulled them both beneath the surface. 

It was only when she could not feel the bottom of the lake below her feet that she broke the kiss and looked at her lover under the water, the moonlight breaking into the darkness of the lake and illuminating Zhenya’s features. 

Irina panicked, kicking her feet, bubbles of air escaping her mouth as she struggled to swim towards the surface, but Zhenya’s arms wrapped tighter around her and dragged her into another kiss. 

Nobody has ever loved me, the lake water whispered around Irina, as she lost the last of her breath in her lover’s kiss. She felt Zhenya’s hair wrapping around her, like strands of lake weed, like tentacles, when she weakly tried to push away, but her movement barely seemed to move Zhenya at all. 

And nobody could ever love you the way I do, the waves said, while the last few bubbles floated towards the surface from Irina’s nose and mouth, as she breathed in the water and the world started turning black. The last thing she felt was her lover drawing her closer still, as they sunk to the bottom of the lake together.


End file.
